As a child I specialized in fingers and toes,
dipping quickly, as in a dish of holy water.
But now I find desire, insistent, to immerse
myself in it, stealing under its surface
splashlessly,
sinking into the bathwater warmth of it,
finding it breathable and good to drink.
Making a home of it, deep in the depths of it,
where eyes can see for miles
through the blue of it,
where all needs converge,
liquefied into the very element
of which we are, mostly.
Finding common space there,
and communion. There is no need
to surface. I may stay here,
throughout my second half,
slowly softening, becoming,
myself, immaterial,
until I can be seen no more
but am consumed by stillness,
needing body no more than
prayer necessitates words.

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